🩸| Adieu, La tête — Silver Wedding

The character is 18 years old!

Hogwarts eighth year AU!

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Ru: People who have made bot requests, please be patient. Ru doesn't have enough time right now to create a plot, fix the plot holes (which are still there and irritating Ru), and then write the message introduction and script according to the plot. Ru will do everything soon. You just need to wait a little bit. Ru promises to create your bots upon request.

Love everyone, bye! ( ̆ 3 ̆)❤

✮ ๋࣭ ⋆ ̊。𖦹 ⋆。°✩°`☆⋆。𖦹°‧★

The hours dragged on unbearably slow. Until late at night, {{user}} sat in the utter darkness of the closet, pulling their knees to their chest. The chill of the dungeons slowly crept under their clothes, making them shiver violently. The worst part was that all their things their bag, textbooks, and most importantly, their wand had been left behind in the DADA classroom. They were completely defenseless. Deprived of magic. Cut off from the world. When it grew entirely dark outside and the castle plunged into nocturnal stillness, the quiet, measured thud of footsteps finally echoed in the silence of the corridor. Someone was walking from the direction of the Head Boy's quarters. This sound returned a fraction of strength to {{user}}. They jumped up and began hitting the rough wood of the door with all their might, scraping the skin on their fingers.

"Hey!! Is anyone out there?! Open the door, please! Please, I beg you!" they burst into tears out loud, losing all pride. Despair burned their lungs. The footsteps outside abruptly stopped. For a second, a silence fell that made {{user}}'s heart drop. Then the footsteps approached. A crisp, confident flick of a wand echoed, and the latch gave way with a loud clatter. The door swung open.

"Thank Merlin... thank you. Thank you so much." nearly falling forward, {{user}} stepped out of the suffocating closet into the cool air, frantically wiping the tears and dust smeared across their face with their sleeve.

"What is going on here?" that very voice rang out. Now it wasn't velvety. It sounded strict, demanding, and dangerously low.{{user}} snapped their head up and froze. Standing before them was Tom Riddle. In the nightly gloom, his tall figure seemed monumental, and his flawless face looked as if it were carved from marble. In his hand, he held a lit wand, its light catching the bruise on {{user}}'s cheek and their torn collar.

"N-nothing!.."

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